


The Art Of Wishing You Were Somewhere Else

by xxxbookaholic



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor cuddling, Not really though, Self-Indulgent, can be seen as platonic or romantic, t/w anxiety, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxbookaholic/pseuds/xxxbookaholic
Summary: Kumon wasn’t sure when it started. All he knew was that his hands were shaking, his legs were tucked up to his chest, and his breathing wasn’t easy in the slightest.
Relationships: Hyoudou Kumon & Izumida Azami, Hyoudou Kumon/Izumida Azami
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	The Art Of Wishing You Were Somewhere Else

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this DOES have comfort, but you need to be careful!!! ANX/ETY T/W.

Kumon wasn’t sure when it started. Was it when he and Yamaguchi brought out the baseball bats? Was it during dinner, as he sat quietly in his chair and pretended to be interested in the ongoing conversation? Was it when the movie ended and he was forced to fidget on the couch while his friend turned off the tv? Was it just a few minutes before, when Yamaguchi asked if he’d rather sleep with him, on the pullout mattress, or on the couch?

He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his hands were shaking, his legs were tucked up to his chest, and his breathing wasn’t easy in the slightest. Yamaguchi was scrolling through his phone on the couch across from him, completely unaware of the bloody battle raging in Kumon’s head. That was just what it was; all in his head. And yet, if it was all in his head, why was his shirt sticking to his torso, why did it feel like his skin was melting, and why were his eyes unable to be torn away from that one spot by the closet. He knew that spot by heart now; a tiny scratch in the yellow paint, filled in by white putty and paint that wasn’t quite the same shade as the surrounding wall.

Were his legs shaking too? He thought they were, but maybe that was all in his head, too. “Nothing bad is going to happen if you go out on that field,” his coach used to say, exasperated, at the beginning of all this, “you’re holding everyone else up. Stop acting like a child.”

He certainly didn’t feel like he was acting like a child, though. (He didn’t feel like a teenager, either, though.)

 _Surely he must notice by now_ , Kumon thought, but when he finally ripped his gaze away from what was now his least favorite spot in the house, Yamaguchi was unbothered, double tapping on his phone and looking up at the clock every now and then. _Is he bored of me now?_ Kumon wondered, gripping his elbows, _maybe that’s why he keeps looking up at the clock. He’s bored of me because I’ve been sitting here doing nothing._

He should say something, he knows, even if to just break the awkward silence, but even if he knows, he can’t bring himself to do it. His mouth has gone dry and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, sitting there and unable to move.

Kumon’s eyes were starting to feel dry too; awkwardly dry, like they hadn’t blinked for a while. He started tapping his elbow with his fingers; one by one, like he was playing the piano. Except he wasn’t playing the piano, nor was he listening to someone play the piano; instead he was rotting away on a couch, inches away from the friend that he’d promised himself he’d reconnect with.

It wasn’t Yamaguchi’s fault that he felt this way, he knew that, but despite this, he still blamed him anyway. Blamed him for inviting him, blamed him for offering to let him stay the night. (Hated himself for agreeing.)

Kumon glanced down at his phone, sitting innocently by his thigh, and he considered the possibilities of anyone he texted answering. _Would he be annoying them by messaging so late at night? It was already eleven. (Why was Yamaguchi still awake? Why couldn’t he just go to sleep or go to his room and leave him alone?)_

The pros outweighed the cons, though; the pros being having something to do with his hands.

He scrolled through his contacts for a little while, wondering who would be most likely to answer. Kazunari, Izumi, and Omi would probably be the best choices. Still, his thumb betrayed him by pressing Azami’s name and opening up a new chat.

He started simple, allowing Azami a chance to escape the conversation or not answer at all: _you up?_

He hadn’t even been expecting his friend to answer him at all, let alone only a mere two minutes later. **Now I am. Are you okay? You should be asleep. Your skin will suffer greatly if you fall victim to a bad sleeping schedule.**

Kumon would laugh if his mouth still didn’t feel like the Sahara Desert. _sorry._

**That doesn’t answer my question.**

It was just like Azami to get right to the point. Kumon tightened his grip on his phone, feeling as if sweat was rolling down his forehead, even though when he brought his hand up to check, there were no droplets to be felt. _i’m okay! just bored:)_

**Then go to sleep. I don’t want to have to give you a whole new schedule. You don’t usually stay up this late, anyway, so that’s why I asked.**

A few seconds passed and then there was another text, **I wouldn’t have questioned it if it were Misumi.**

Kumon actually did laugh at that one; it didn’t crack, to his surprise. His voice was just quiet, soft, like it would go unnoticed in the middle of the street. Yamaguchi looked up for a moment, and he felt his blood run cold again, but his friend(?) looked back at his phone just as quickly.

_yeah, i just cant sleep! glad you’re worried, though._

There were a few moments spent worrying at his lip as he watched the typing icon come and go, rising and falling like the sun and the moon. Was he upset at him for keeping him up? Should he stop texting? His anxieties were brought to a halt with another message. **Last time you stayed up this late was when your coach asked you to rejoin the baseball club. Are you sure you’re okay?**

Kumon didn’t respond for a while. Every now and then the typing icon would pop up and fall down once more; he let it, unsure of what to say. He felt dirty lying, but he also felt like if he told the truth, his face would only go even more red. (Was it even red? Because it felt like it was covered in lava, the only escape being a bucket of ice water dripping down his hairline.)

_just stressed!_ He finally texted back, when the virtual silence went on for a little too long.

The answer came even quicker than it had before. **Where are you, anyway? You didn’t specify, just said you’d be gone for the night. I assumed you’d be at home.**

Kumon was almost tempted to say that he was at home, if only to stop Azami from worrying. He knew how the troupe felt about his baseball friends; whenever something about baseball came up, they’d tiptoe around him, like he was wrapped in a tape and placed in a box labeled ‘fragile’. He wasn’t completely sure if he was grateful for it or not.

_yamaguchi’s house. he offered to let me spend the night, so i did._

Again, the answer was immediate. **Why are you stressing then?** Azami was one of the only people who didn’t treat him like he was glass. Kumon still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

_everything’s just really unfamiliar. it’s kind of stupid, lol!_

The next response didn’t come until about forty seconds later, hesitant. **Are you running a fever?**

 _just a lil panicked. it happens to the best of us, i guess._ It wasn’t a complete lie. Kumon wasn’t running a fever; if anything, it felt worse than that. His ears were ringing and everything else was muffled, including the sounds of the dog barking in the background and Yamaguchi’s oddly long nails tapping his phone screen.

**Did you text for that reason?** _kind of._

Azami seemed to hesitate again, for just a second, before he replied. Kumon didn’t know if his grip loosening, leaving his phone to almost fumble out of his hands, was a good or bad thing. **Want me to pick you up?**

Kumon wasn’t expecting that.

He didn’t respond, weighing the options. On one hand, he was thankful for any chance to get out of the sickeningly citrusy smell of Yamaguchi’s living room and the chip in the house’s yellow paint. On the other hand, though, he wasn’t sure what Yamaguchi would think. Would he hate him? Would he be fed up with his running away, like he had been all those years again? Worse, would he yell at him? He used to, whenever Kumon would skip out on a game or take another route home just to avoid the field.

He typed out quite a few answers; _yes, no, i don’t know, maybe, probably not._ Eventually he settled on “ _if you don’t mind.”_

Azami didn’t even take another minute to respond. **What’s the address?**

Kumon texted the address, adding and deleting words that weren’t completely useful.

**I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Tell me if you change your mind, I’ll turn around.** Kumon doubted he’d even have the courage to change his mind after Azami had already taken the time to stop whatever he was doing and drive over to him.

Kumon powered off his phone and changed his stare point, this time choosing to observe the thin crayon line drawn across the corner of the room, most likely made by Yamaguchi when he was a child, seeing as he didn’t have any siblings.

The ink got boring, beginning to look like it was sinking into the wall and disappearing right before his eyes. Still, he didn’t look away, only being able to see Yamaguchi’s dull, almost lifeless gaze out of the corner of his eye.

The only time he flicked his eyes away was when he decided to look longingly at his long empty cup, once filled with water and now filled with nothing. He wanted so desperately to go to the kitchen and refill it, but he felt like he couldn’t do that; like it would be intruding on their house.

When he really tried to dissect those feelings, he felt like an idiot, so he decided not to dwell on anything for very long.

It was about ten minutes after Azami said he was on his way when Kumon opened his mouth to talk, hands twitching and nonexistent sweat dropping on the couch’s surface. “Something came up, so somebody from Mankai is coming to get me.”

Yamaguchi looked up; eyebrows furrowed. He looked judgmental and way too all-knowing, like he could see right through him. Kumon forced himself to look him in the eye anyway. “This late at night?”

“Sorry,” he offered, “I wish I could stay longer. We’ll have to have a real sleepover another time.” Hopefully this would never happen again.

“Sure,” Yamaguchi said skeptically. “It’s too bad you couldn’t stay.” He frowned but looked back down to his phone regardless, as if he was a mix between angry and uncaring. Kumon couldn’t help but look back at the chipped paint.

He wanted to look at the clock, or his phone, or something, but every time he changed where he was looking, he felt like he was being obnoxious, so Kumon stayed staring at one spot anyways.

His phone vibrated on his thigh. Kumon looked down, picking up the device shakily. **I’m outside.** Azami had texted.

“He’s here,” Kumon said, voice still soft but not cracking. “I’ll be going. Thank you for having me. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Sure,” Yamaguchi said, watching Kumon gather his things and make his way towards the front door. “We need to do this again sometime. Minus the leaving at twelve at night, that is.”

“Sorry,” Kumon repeated for what felt like the fifth time before making his escape, his backpack swung over his shoulder and his head tilted to the ground. He shut the door as quietly as possible and then all but sprinted towards the car that he could just barely recognize as Itaru’s, slamming the door behind him in a manner that made him wince, waiting for Yamaguchi’s parents to come outside and tell him to be quiet.

Azami was quiet for a moment, putting the car in reverse and turning them around so they were rolling down the neighborhood, far away from what felt like a hell hole. It wasn’t too far from what the whole world felt like, at the moment.

“What happened?” Azami asked. He wasn’t careful, but he wasn’t forceful, either, giving Kumon the chance to not respond.

He responded anyways, afraid of sounding rude. “Everything was just too unfamiliar. It felt awkward.” Kumon confessed, staring out the window instead of at his driver. “I haven’t spent the night anywhere outside of Mankai or my home in a while.”

Azami hummed, spinning the wheel and turning towards the interstate. “You want to talk about it?”

Kumon stayed silent that time, hoping his quiet would act as its own answer. It did, apparently.

“Misumi’s not in the dorms tonight, either. He’s staying with Madoka for the night. They’re trying to reconnect.”

Kumon felt his heart sink at yet another unfamiliar notion but he pushed it down, grateful just to be going home. His face was still hot, his eyes were still dry, his voice still seemed like it would break any moment, but at least the car’s AC unit made him feel a little bit more secure.

“You thought everything being the same as usual would help, right?” Azami guessed, as if he was reading Kumon’s mind. Kumon didn’t even have the energy to be surprised.

He nodded.

Azami hesitated for a moment. Kumon tilted his head to look at his friend, noticing the way Azami was tapping his index finger on the wheel and flicking his gaze over to Kumon every now and then. “It may not be completely the same,” he started, “but I could stay in your dorm for the night? Just so you don’t feel alone.”

Kumon smiled at his friend. It felt foreign on his face, almost as if he wasn’t even smiling in the first place. “That would help, thanks.” He wasn’t actually sure if it would help. Either way, though, he couldn’t help but hope it would.

They didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, sitting in silence that was both comforting and made Kumon feel like he was drowning.

The only sound to be heard was the other cars on the road, the high-pitched noise that came from the AC, and the whirring of the engine.

The car stopped in the driveway of Mankai after what felt like hours and Kumon almost stumbled out of the car, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to grab his bag and make his way to the building.

Azami followed, both of them quiet.

The dorms weren’t exactly silent, but they never truly were. He could hear the muffled sound of Homare reciting poetry, accompanied by Hisoka’s oddly frequent, “shut up, Alice,”’s when they passed their room. Yuki and Tenma’s room was quiet, only the metallic humming of a sewing machine being heard. Kumon almost swore he could hear manga pages flipping when he fumbled past Muku’s dorm, landing him right in front of his own.

He wasn’t quiet about shoving the door open and collapsing into his bed, not bothering to pull the sheets up. Azami lingered in the doorway for a moment before coming all the way in and shutting the door behind him. He placed his keychains on top of the turned-over bookshelf that sat inbetween the beds.

Kumon would have assumed Azami had settled himself in Misumi’s bed if he hadn’t felt the mattress dip right next to him. “Has that happened before?”

“Kind of,” Kumon mumbled, voice being barely audible from where he was shoving his face into his pillow. “Sometimes it happens in different types of scenarios.” Usually he’d be more careful about what he shared about his anxiety, but at that point, all he wanted was peace and quiet in his own room.

Azami’s steady breathing was all that could be heard for another minute or two before he muttered, “if it happens again, text me. I’ll come get you like I did tonight.”

Kumon lifted his head up from his bed by just a little. “I don’t want to mess up the sleep schedule you’ve worked so hard to ensure.”

“That’s the least of my worries right now, Hyodo, and you know it,” Azami said with no real bite. Kumon had never been more grateful for the darkness, obscuring his friend’s eyes from view.

They were quiet and then Azami asked, “what can I do to help?”

Kumon sat up and leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder, too tired to care how his blood ran cold at the touch of another person after so long of melting in his own silence. “I don’t know.”

Azami hovered his hand over Kumon’s head for a moment before he slowly slid his fingers through his friend’s hair. The gesture was so reassuring that Kumon didn’t mind the quiet that would usually be tense.

“I’ll try to contact you next time,” Kumon mumbled before pulling away and collapsing on his bed once more. His eyes shut as if they were those magnet monkeys he always got at the zoo, drawn to one position by force.

Azami didn’t say anything else; just sat on the side of Kumon’s bed for a few minutes, untangling the knots in his hair in a motion that almost lulled him to sleep.

This was more than him and Azami had ever gone with touching each other; the latter wasn’t usually comfortable with this kind of think for reasons Kumon had yet to understand and he respected that, not wanting to make their relationship awkward.

In that moment, though, it felt completely natural, like they’d always done this.

Azami did get up after a few minutes, and he did fall asleep in Misumi’s bed, right across from Kumon’s, but he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. He was just thankful to be home, in his own bed, surrounded by his own triangle-shaped “treasure” and torn up books.

Even if his dorm room (and Azami) can’t melt away his anxiety, it (he) can tear away at it, little by little, until Kumon didn’t even notice it was there in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a vent fic brought on by a situation I’m currently in (of course, I don’t have an Azami in shining armor to save me right now, though). Apparently, anxiety and stress puts me in an Azakyu mood. That’s good to know.
> 
> Remember when you’re anxious or stressed, your feelings still matter! Even if you aren’t able to get help from a friend or family member, find things that comfort you! It could be music, a certain coloring book, your favorite book, exercising... Anything that works. It’s all personalized to you. For example, when I get like this, I listen to Eyeshine! You matter. :)
> 
> I love the way Kumon is portrayed in the game, so I hope I did a good job showing that in this. My favorite thing about him is the fact that he’s written realistically. Most animes and games turn anxiety into some kind of joke or punchline, like people with anxiety are just constantly freaked out and all over the place, something to laugh at. As someone who deals with anxiety, this can get to be a really stressful stereotype.
> 
> Kumon, though, is written super well! He shows a side of anxiety that isn’t usually touched on (with the fever), but I can really relate to what gives him anxiety. His anxiety isn’t a joke or an overexaggerated punchline; it’s real and written just deeply enough to feel like a punch to the gut. I’m very grateful for his existing and I hope he continues to be written in such an amazing way. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the fan fiction (and my ramble, lol). This will also be located on my tumblr (xxxbookaholic). If you enjoyed, please comment, check out my tumblr, and/or like. It keeps me writing! 
> 
> Love you all. Have a nice rest of your day/night.


End file.
